June 17th, 1983
One hour after the call with Alexander Jones.
A facility-wide meeting had been called in the cafeteria.
Or rather, that had been the order.
In reality, most of Erebus was in hiding.
After what happened to Arlo, fear had spread through the facility faster than any alarm ever could. Doors stayed locked. Lights remained off in private quarters. Some hid beneath desks, some barricaded themselves inside their rooms, and others simply prayed they would not be next.
In the end, only a handful came.
Wren Cromwell.
Nicholas Graves.
Dorothea Rose.
Jasper Quinn.
And Cosmo, the dog Jasper insisted on keeping in the facility.
The cafeteria felt far too large with so few people in it.
Its overhead lights hummed softly. Empty tables stretched out in every direction. The silence between words felt wrong, like the room itself was listening.
Nicholas stood at the front, shoulders tense, forcing himself to look steadier than he felt. As head of security, it fell to him to keep the others calm.
"I'm sure all of you have heard about the recent incidents by now," he said, taking a slow breath. "And I'm also sure the rest of the facility is trying to hide from it."
No one argued with that.
"So who's next?" Jasper asked suddenly.
His voice cracked.
He was gripping a kitchen knife so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. His hands were trembling badly enough that the blade shook with them.
"That thing…" he muttered, swallowing hard. "It's just going to pick us off one by one, isn't it?"
Dorothea shot him a sharp look.
"Knock it off, coward," she snapped. "If anything, I bet that thing can smell your fear."
Jasper turned on her immediately.
"Bitch, you're the one underreacting," he shot back. "I snuck into the security room. I saw the recordings." His face had gone pale just from remembering. "What it did to Arlo was disgusting. Horrific. I don't want to end up like that."
"Stop," Nicholas said firmly, cutting in before the argument could escalate. "Both of you."
"You're right," Wren said, stepping forward at last. Her voice was steady, but only just. "It was disgusting."
For a moment, her eyes lowered.
"I'm the one who had to kill it, after all."
Silence settled over the cafeteria.
Wren's injured hand tightened at her side, pain pulsing through the bandaged stump of her missing finger.
"We still don't know how to kill Azathoth," she continued. "Hell, we don't even know if it's safe to look directly at it. But at the very least…" Her jaw clenched. "We know its… seeds can be killed."
Jasper let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it.
"So that's it, then?" he asked. "We just sit around and wait until one of us turns into a monster, and then the rest have to put them down?"
"Of course not."
The new voice cut cleanly across the room.
Everyone turned.
A man was making his way into the cafeteria at an unhurried pace, the soft tap of his cane echoing against the floor.
He was older, with neatly kept white hair and a trimmed white beard and mustache that gave him the air of a respectable gentleman—at least at first glance. He wore a black suit vest over a crisp white shirt, with a black tie pulled neatly into place. Black gloves covered his hands. One of his eyes was blue, the other green, the mismatch making his gaze linger strangely when it landed on someone.
He walked with a cane, but there was nothing frail about him.
This was August Roswaal, head of Human Resources for the Erebus Research Facility.
A slimy old bastard, in Wren's opinion.
He had a habit of smiling through problems instead of solving them, and worse, he had spent far too much time covering for Jasper's inappropriate behavior whenever complaints found their way to his office.
Wren felt irritation rise the instant she saw him.
"This is a blessing in disguise, after all," August said with a quiet chuckle. "One should not reject such a baptism."
Nicholas's expression darkened immediately.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, glaring at him.
August smiled, utterly unbothered.
"A.E.G.I.S. was founded to combat the supernatural," he said, tapping his cane lightly against the floor. "And yet, for all our weapons, all our secrecy, all our little ambitions, we humans remain laughably inferior."
He spread his arms wide, as though presenting some grand revelation to the room.
"We do not possess the technology to match them. Nor the bodies to rival them. We are weak, fragile creatures pretending we stand at the top of creation."
His mismatched eyes gleamed.
"But Azathoth…" he said softly, almost reverently, "Azathoth is not a curse. It is an answer. A gift. Only through its clarity can mankind evolve beyond its miserable limitations."
Wren's stomach turned.
August tilted his head slightly, his smile never wavering.
"Our dear Arlo was proof enough of that. His broken body was healed by its blessing. His legs were restored." His gaze shifted toward Wren. "And in the end, you murdered that poor blessed man."
Something inside Wren snapped.
Before anyone could stop her, she lunged forward and grabbed August by the collar, yanking him down toward her.
"Blessing?" she hissed, fury shaking through every word. "That was not a blessing. He was turned into a monster."
Her grip tightened.
"I gave him mercy."
August did not resist.
He only smiled at her from inches away, as if her rage amused him.
"You shot your husband in cold blood," he said. "You killed him at the very moment he was finally able to stand beside you—beside the woman he loved most."
The words hit like a knife twisting in an open wound.
And August, vile as ever, kept smiling.
Wren's breathing grew sharper.
Faster.
Her hand twisted tighter in August's collar, knuckles whitening as rage trembled through her entire body. For a moment, it looked like she might actually kill him.
Then Nicholas stepped in.
His fist slammed into August's face with a sickening crack.
August stumbled back, nearly losing his footing as his cane scraped against the floor.
"Shut up," Nicholas said coldly. "Don't you dare say that to her."
The cafeteria fell silent.
Nicholas stood between them now, his expression stripped bare of its usual easygoing warmth. There was nothing relaxed left in his face, nothing playful in his posture. His eyes were cold enough to freeze the room.
August touched his cheek and let out a low chuckle.
"Scary," he murmured. "It's been a while since I've seen those eyes of yours." His mismatched gaze narrowed with amusement. "I was beginning to think you'd grown soft. Goofy, even. I'm glad this little incident has reignited your fire."
For a moment, Nicholas said nothing.
Then, just as suddenly, he laughed.
The sound was light. Easy.
Almost normal.
A warm smile spread across his face, so natural it would have been convincing if Wren hadn't just seen what lay beneath it.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Nicholas said brightly. "I'm the same happy guy as always."
August stared at him for a beat.
Then he muttered, almost fondly—
"Psychopath."
Nicholas's smile didn't falter.
August adjusted his collar, straightened his vest, and gripped his cane once more.
"Trust me," he said, glancing across the room, "Azathoth will bless us all. You should not resist it."
His smile widened.
"Many of this facility's residents have already come to agree with me. I do hope, in time, that the rest of you will join my vision."
With that, he turned and began to leave, his cane tapping softly against the cafeteria floor.
"Bye-bye," Nicholas called after him in that same fake-cheerful voice. "And just so we're clear, if I ever see you again, I'm tazing you."
August only chuckled and kept walking.
The moment he was gone, the smile vanished from Nicholas's face.
After everything that had happened, he was too exhausted to keep wearing his usual mask for long.
June 17th, 1983
On this day, the Church of Ascension was born.
A doomsday cult formed within Erebus, devoted to the belief that Azathoth was humanity's only path to salvation.